


Vessels Never Die

by anti_ela



Series: Some Girls Grow Teeth [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Body Horror, Gen, Vessels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-30 21:33:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5180531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anti_ela/pseuds/anti_ela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vessels never die, but I have grown older, stranger. Last night a rotten boil burst on my leg, and once the pus was gone a flower bud was left. But I am used to this, and I pulled it out by the root, and the sickly silken thread was six inches long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vessels Never Die

Vessels never die, but I have grown older, stranger. Last night a rotten boil burst on my leg, and once the pus was gone a flower bud was left. But I am used to this, and I pulled it out by the root, and the sickly silken thread was six inches long. It pulls at me, at what should be in me as if it should be too, and I can never get it all. I cut as close, as deep, as I can bear.

It pulsed a moment, then wilted, my life no longer feeding it.

In bloom, they smell like blood.

I cut them out.

The scars should mark me, should rope all over me, there should be records—but. Of course. It all reverts. To when he touched me, entered me, I said yes but did not _know_  and now I’m, I’m.

This.

I passed a god on the street last Thursday and he was afraid. I could feel his power, I could taste it, shimmering on the heat and the humid air and the reflections of light in the windows, and I wanted it as I have not wanted food in years. He fled before my teeth and it was good. I am empty, but used to emptiness; he was small, and would not have filled me. It was good that he escaped me, it was good, and yet the scent was so lovely on the air—the humid Houston heat trapped his scent upon the air—

Can you blame me? Him I hounded. I do not bay, but I have treed him, I can feel him, somewhere up above in that building tall before me. He is looking,  _he is looking_ , but I would lose him in that office mazing. So I pace the path before it and I hate him every moment.

Oh I want him, how I want him, but all this sharp and present hunger makes me know what I’ve become. Better fuzzy, better faded, better colors dark and jaded. Better not to see the claws or feel the words or taste the gold upon my tongue. Better not to see with all my eyes, or to remember wings.


End file.
